Stanford
by waywarddemons
Summary: Prompt: What do you think happened the night Sam left for Stanford?
1. (Sam)

Sam's skin was itching, his legs bouncing up and down as he sat in the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat in. He tapped his fingers against the fake wooden arm rest, not to any particular beat, but just because he needed to be moving.

Dean was sleeping on the bed, arms crossed over his chest. Sam couldn't help but laugh at how uncomfortable he looked. Still wearing his black tshirt, jeans and boots. How on earth anyone could sleep so soundly like that baffled him. Sam sighed, he was taking too long. He needed to talk to Dean. Who cares if Dean was finally getting some quality sleep?

"Dean." Sam whispered, kicking at the corner of the bed. "Dean!" He yelled louder when Dean didn't budge.

This time though Dean sprung up, he searched the room for anything that would warrant his brother practically yelling at him to wake up and when he didn't find anything but a very anxious looking Sammy he groaned.

"Dude, come on. I was finally getting some sleep. Sleeping in that car never is enough." Dean yawned, stretching his sore muscles as he did. Sleeping the car had always been terrible, except maybe when they were younger and could actually fit in the back seat. Now it was just a painful mess of sore muscles and creaking bones.

"I gotta talk to you Dean." Sam was serious, and this confused Dean. Sure, the boys had dove deep into conversations a lot, they spent a lot of fucking time together. It would be impossible to not talk about the important things. But something about Sam's bouncing legs, or the way he kept licking his lips told Dean something was wrong.

"Shoot." Dean leaned back, stacking pillows so he could lay down while still effectively looking at his brother.

Sam looked around the room as if someone was listening, and who knew, someone might be. "I got a letter today."

"Oh did you get your first credit card scam going? Sammy, you're so grown up." Dean joked nodding to himself that it was a good one.

"No. shut up." Sam rolled his eyes. "I got a letter from Stanford. They accepted my application." Sam all but jumped out of his seat as the words came out of his mouth. He had never been so happy or so excited about anything before in his life. Well, maybe the first time he actually got to be with a girl, which was pretty exciting too.

"Wow," Dean ran a hand down his face in disbelief as he sat up to soak in this news. "Stanford, that's like…Wait, you applied for Stanford?" Dean couldn't control the anger in his voice as he realized what Sam had said.

"Yeah. I told you this like 6 months ago. Look, it says I can start classes as soon as next month." Sam pointed to a line on the letter, but Dean paid no mind to it.

"But Sammy." Dean started.

"I know I know. Stanford means I'll be in one place. But that doesn't mean that I can't still help you guys with cases. I can still do research for you. I bet it'll be easier with the library there." Sam's face lit up with excitement as he thought about it all.

They'd driven past the school a few times, John would make some remark about rich kid's rich school and turn up the music. Dean had always seen the way Sammy lit up as he looked at the old buildings and people walking by. He almost had the same face on right now.

Dean smiled, seeing Sam happy was rare these days. Hell, it being this quiet was rare. Sam was so happy; so excited as he read the letter for what Dean could only imagine to be the millionth time. Sam had every reason to be excited, Dean knew that. And Dean didn't want to ruin this moment, so instead Dean drank it in.

Sam's smile, the way his feet were bouncing now. Not like they were before, no they were bouncing with glee now. Sam's eyes quickly scanned the letter over and over. And Dean couldn't help but feel a tightening in his chest, a warmth he'd never felt before.

Dean sighed, "Have you told Dad yet?"

"No, only you." Sam looked up at his brother, the excitement gone from his face as he thought about John Winchester. The thorn in his back.

"Dad's gunna flip." Dean said the words without thinking about them. They were true though, and both boys knew it.

Sam folded his letter and slid it into his jacket pocket. "Don't worry I'll handle it."

Dean scoffed, he let his boot covered feet hit the ground as he started to pace. "Handle it? Like you handle it every time you mention running off? Sam, Dad's not going to want to hear you got into Stanford." Dean turned back to his brother. Gone was the excited face, gone was all hope of happiness. Now Dean was looking at the sad sulking brother he always saw. "Damnit Sammy. You can't tell him. You have to keep this a secret. And you have to get rid of that letter."

"No."

"Sam-"

"No I don't have to do any of that. Dean this is my life we're talking about here. I just got accepted into one of the best colleges ever. Me. The boy who had to finish High school in the back of a car with a shitty shock system. Me who's never gone to one school longer than a week. I got into Stanford Dean. Stanford. Do you understand what that means?" Sam was trying hard not to yell. At any moment John would be returning, or maybe he wouldn't. You never really knew with him.

"I do Sammy. I do. It's great. It's wonderful. I really am happy for you. But Sammy. What about us? Huh? Your family?" Dean was in front of his brother now. Knees digging into the shaggy carpet

Sam pushed his way past his brother and left the dirty hotel room. The sun from outside bore into his pale skin and instantly warmed him. He started walking, spotting a little playground, empty and void of all kids. He sat on a swing, feet still on the ground as he thought over his little fight with his brother.

Dean was right, John wasn't going to like hearing about Stanford and how Sam was going to go. But Sam didn't care, He was so excited to get into such a prestigious school that yelling with John for the millionth time wasn't going to be a big deal.

Sam swung, his feet pumping the air around him.

He wasn't mad at Dean, Dean was doing his job, being the older protective brother he was. So fighting with him, staying mad at him was pointless. It was John they had to worry about.

Sam dreaded telling his father the news. "Maybe Dean's right. I should just throw it away." Sam said, placing a hand on his jacket where the note was safely stashed away.

"Don't listen to me. I'm stupid for saying that." Dean said, taking a seat in the swing next to his brother. "So, how are we going to do this?"

Sam wasn't even sure what had started the fight tonight. Did he shoot wrong? Did he not say the spell correctly? Hadn't he run fast enough? Or was John just crabby tonight? Sam never knew. But here he was listening to the ranting and ravings of how he could do better via John Winchester.

John sat in the front seat, one hand on the steering wheel as he made his way down the darkened highway. Dean leaned his head against the cold window, hoping that it soon would be over and he could pretend to be asleep. Not that it would solve anything, John didn't care if Dean was sleeping or not.

Sam ignored his father's words, he instead chose to watch the bushes that he could barely make out as they sped past them. Sam had already heard enough, continuing to listen wasn't going to help him any at this point. He sighed, hitting his head lightly against the window as if that would stop his father's words; it never did.

It had been a week or so since Sam had confided in Dean about the letter from Stanford. Both brother's silently agreeing that they should keep it under wraps until they could find "the right way" to tell John about it. But Sam knew what Dean meant by the right way, that meant never telling John, and Sam was tired of waiting.

"Pull the car over." Sam said, voice calm and collected. Dean turned back before John did his leather jacket squeaking against the seat as he did, a confused look on his face as he gave Sam a once over.

"What did you say?" John asked, he shifted in his seat, now able to see the tall boy in the back from his rearview mirror.

Sam looked back at his father, lips pressed into a thin line, "I said pull the car over." Sam made sure his words were clear, that there could be no confusing them because he didn't want to repeat them.

John hesitated before he did as his youngest son asked him to do. The Impala hitting the gravel on the side of the road and coming to a slow stop. John took the keys out of the ignition and turned to face Sam. He rested his arm on the back of his seat, a smile on his face as he saw how proud and tall Sam was sitting back there.

"What's going on Samuel?" John asked not hiding the smile on his face.

Sam took a deep breath, he met eyes with his brother who wore the most scared look Sam had ever seen on him. It was supposed to stop him, it should have, but it didn't. How could Sam turn back now? John was there, this was the time, the moment to finally tell him. Fuck what Dean wanted, this is what Sam wanted. "I got into Stanford." Sam said the words so clearly it took him by surprise.

John didn't say anything for a moment, he sat there staring blankly at Sam. Meanwhile Dean didn't know who to look at. He kept glancing at his father, waiting for the ultimate fight to happen in the small space. But Sam, with those brooding eyes and stiff back. Dean hadn't ever seen this side of Sam, it scared him frankly. Usually when Sam and John fought Sam could only play the tough guy for so long before he would cave and just back away, letting John think he won.

"Stanford?" John repeated the word.

The way John said it felt, wrong. It felt awkward and not the way it was supposed to be said. "Yeah. Stanford." Sam couldn't help it, his confidence was gone and he knew that John could tell.

"Funny, I don't remember hearing about you applying." John licked his lips and shifted in his seat. "See, I thought we were a family, and you were a hunter." John was trying to keep his voice contained.

"I am. And we are. But Dad-" Sam started,

"No listen to me Sammy." John shifted in his seat, practically turning his whole body to face the young boy behind him. "We stick together. Because that's what family does. We don't go running off at the first chance we get."

John didn't wait for a reply. He turned around and stuck his keys back into his baby and let her engine roar to life. He pressed on the gas and the car was pulling forward. "Stanford." He repeated.

And this is what made Sam flip. "I'm going to Stanford. You can't stop me. John." He spat his father's name into the air.

"I can stop you boy, and I will. You're not going to Stanford and that's that." John glanced back, seeing the reflection of Sam in the mirror once more. "End of discussion Samuel."

"Its Sam." Sam huffed.

Sam didn't have to ask for John to pull the car over again. John did it this time all on his own. The tires crunching the gravel under them again. "You're right Sam, I can't stop you. Go on ahead, go."

Sam hesitated. John had never said that he could leave before. He'd never looked at Sam the way he was right now. And he'd never called him Sam. Sam's heart started racing, his palms grew sweaty, and he had no idea what to do. Obviously John was testing him. But what was the right answer?

"Go on Sam. Go to Stanford." John's voice was the scariest part about this whole situation. He had abandoned his anger, had stopped talking loud. His voice was low, deeper than normal and quiet. It shook Sam to his core.

Sam slowly raised his hand to open the door, the hinges squeaking as he did. No one said anything as he placed his foot on the gravel. No one said anything as he stood tall and his legs cracked from it. No one said anything as he shut his door and stood on the side of the road with his bag over his shoulder.

He thought they were going to leave, kick up dirt in his face and hit the pavement. Until Dean opened the door and joined Sam. "Dean what are you doing?" Sam whispered to his brother.

John joined them, sighing as he looked over the car at his two sons. "Dean get in the car." John ordered.

"We can't just leave Sam on the side of the road Dad. It's passed midnight." Dean said.

John laughed, "Sam doesn't want to hunt with us anymore. He's going to Stanford."

"I know but dad-"

"Dean." John raised his voice, he wanted to hit the top of his car, wanted to express the anger he was feeling. But he didn't. Sam and Dean were already looking over at him with scared but stern expressions.

John sighed. He didn't know what to do.

Sam's knuckles turned white as he held on to his bag. He had it slung over one shoulder, the weight of it pulling him down on one side. Sam didn't say anything, there was nothing to say. He could have consoled Dean, told Dean to not to worry so much, that Sam was a big boy now and that he could do this on his own. But he didn't know how to put it into words.

So, instead of saying any parting words, Sam walked away. He wordlessly turned and let his feet take him down the road.

"If you go, don't ever come back!" John yelled. He leaned against the car, elbows digging into the metal of it.

Sam's steps stopped, his feet unable to move forward. His heart was pounding in his chest. His short breaths were made blatantly aware to him in the cold air. His mind was racing. Was this the right choice? Leaving his family behind like this?

He'd wanted this for so long, he'd wanted to be free of the life and to be whom he wanted to be, who he was on the inside. But now that it was happening, now that he was able to walk away, able to be free, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Sammy." Dean pleaded. Sam could hear the pain in his brothers voice, could hear the way he was fighting back the tears as he barely said his brother's name.

Sam's head hung low, his feet suddenly allowing him to walk forward again. He didn't turn around, he couldn't. If he did, if he saw Dean, if he saw his father, he would cave, and he wouldn't leave. He didn't turn around even though Dean called his name again.

He didn't turn around when he heard his father start the engine. He didn't turn around when the car was gone. Sam kept walking forward. His feet controlling him, his mind aching at the pain of leaving his family.

This wasn't easy, he loved his brother, hell he loved his father. But he needed this. He needed to leave and be himself. He could no longer hear the engine roar, and his heart hurt because of it. Sam walked on, walked forward with his new life.

Stanford was going to hold new opportunities for him, new chances to figure out who he was. "If you go, don't ever come back!" John's words, John's painful words echoing off inside his head.

Sam's heart started to return to normal. His breathing only staggered because he was practically running down the street. His mind was clear now, empty of all emotion and thought as he made his way back to the small town he had noticed on their way down here.

Sam was going to Stanford. Sam was going to Stanford. Stanford.


	2. (Dean)

"What do you think happened the night Sam left for Stanford?"

His short breaths came out in little puffs of white against the cold air. His heart was racing, pounding against this chest hard, like it was trying to escape. Everything was wrong. He felt as if he were watching from outside his body, like a movie in slow motion happening on a large screen right in front of him.

Sammy took off walking, a bag over his shoulder swinging back and forth with every heavy hurried step he took. Dean stood, watching it all unfold around him. John walked the other way, his feet slapping against the wet asphalt below him as he reached his car. Farther and farther Sam walked, his large frame getting smaller with each step.

The squeak of the door opening when John slid into the sleek black car didn't even pry Dean's eyes off his brother. No, he watched his brother not turn around. Watched him pull the strings of his bag so it clung to his back. Watched as Sammy walked into the cold night, alone. Tears threatened to fall, and his feet begged him to chase after him.

"Dean, get in the car." John barked, sitting in the driver seat, his hands on the wheel before him tightly. He had already roared the beast to life, another noise Dean had completely tuned out. "Dean get in the car now!" John yelled again.

Dean shook off his thoughts, his feelings, the best he could. He rolled his shoulders, and ran his hand over his face before slinking off to the car. He looked back one last time, though Sam had already cleared the turn and was out of his vison now. He threw himself into the seat, slamming the door just in time for his father to press a frim foot on the gas pedal and race off.

The silence was eating at Dean. John didn't say a word, only drove as fast as he could with his back to one of his sons. "If you go, don't ever come back!" Replayed over and over in Dean's head. Sammy had left before, snuck out and lived on his own, and that had been hell. It had been under Dean's watch and when John came back to the hotel room… Dean shook off those thoughts. This wasn't his fault. This was John's. John had forced his brother to leave, and Dean wasn't so sure he was going to come back this time.

Dean reached over to the stereo. The leather under him squeaked, and soon the sounds of his father's rock tapes filled his ears. He tried to tap his foot along with it, tried to let it distract him from saying the things rolling around in his head. But it was short lived. John quickly turned the music off and forced Dean to sit in the unbearable silence again.

"Don't. Don't say a word." John said, raising a stern finger. His eyes never left the road though, the knuckles on his other hand white from holding onto the wheel so tightly. His words came out choked, as if he himself were holding back tears, or anger. Dean couldn't tell anymore.

"I wasn't gunna." Dean shuffled in his seat, curling his body. He was fighting back the emotions inside him, knowing John wouldn't ever let him live it down. When he had lost his brother before, on his watch, he had cried.

They drove for a while, still in silence as John slowly cooled off. Dean noticed his hands ease up on the steering wheel, noticed John lean against the door and drive with one hand. Dean noticed the loud music and lines of bikes in front of the bar his father pulled up to. Dean sighed, leaning his head against the window.

John didn't say anything when he left the car. He got out, slammed the door and made his way rather quickly into the bar. Dean sat in his seat, running and hand through his spikes before stepping out of the car. He looked back at the road, back to where they had left Sam walking alone. _He'll come back, he always comes back._

John had wasted no time at the bar, slinging back shots of whiskey while Dean circled the pool table making a few bucks. Every now and then Dean would hear and uproar from the few men sitting around his father, but he was trying to remain focused on making another hundred bucks. Slink, another ball in its pocket.

"Come on kid." Dean's opponent groaned. Dean looked over the table at him and back down again. Any other day something witty and smart mouthed would spill from his mouth but not tonight. Instead he searched for his last stripped ball and in a few fluid motions watched it sink into a pocket like the others. With the 8 ball clanking its way down the table, Dean stuck out his hand ready to accept his winnings.

The man on the other side rolled his eyes and shook his head. His hands grasped the pool table before one reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet. A string of muttered curse words left his mouth as he pulled the cash from it and threw it into the middle of the table. "Thanks." Annoyed, Dean counting the money as the man walked away.

Dean leaned against the table, watching his father sip on a beer, alone. At some point John had said something to anger the men around him, not enough to pick a fight, but enough to alienate him from the groups. So there he sat, alone slinking back drink after drink and slowly sipping on his beer.

Grabbing his leather jacket, he made his way to him, sitting in the stool next to him and waving down the cute dark haired bartender. John huffed as his son ordered a beer and made some flirty remark towards her.

"Made us money for a hotel room." Dean said casually over his drink. Looking forward at the shelves of hard alcohol in front of him.

Once again John huffed. "We're not saying here." He raised his glass to his lips and drank his beer. He tossed Dean a newspaper without looking.

Dean unfolded the paper aggressively. John swiped his finger over the drops of beer cascading down the sides of the now empty glass. Dean scanned the articles and searched for anything that might be up his alley. Missing persons, reports of something unnatural, omens of some kind, and when he didn't find anything he rolled the paper back up. "There's not a case here."

The bartender brought John a shot, he winked at her and raised it in thanks before sloshing the liquid down his throat in a quick motion, "Which is why we aren't staying." He set the glass down upside down, pushing it towards the end of the bar and finally looking over at his son. "Ready?"

"We can't leave tonight." Dean said, watching his father roll his eyes once more but stand. John pulled out his wallet and slapped down some bills before turning his back on Dean. "Dad." He called out, jumping off his own stool to join him.

The cold air hit Dean like a brick wall, and any buzz he had caught in the bar was gone. But not John, his steps were sluggish and wobbly. He zigzagged all the way to the car, falling on the hood with his two hands. Dean quickened his pace and caught his father before he fell to the ground. "I gotcha." He said, lifting him back to his feet.

With one arm around his waist Dean shuffled his father towards the passenger seat, "That's it." He said, slipping John into the seat with ease. Before John could slide into the driver seat Dean ran to it, slipping in and searching his father's pockets for the keys.

"I can drive Dean!" John slapped his son's hands away, only to be met with them once more reaching into his pockets. John gave up, letting his spinning mind relax against the closed window. His breathing was short, but enough to leave little clouds of fog on the glass.

Dean watched his father lean against the window and fall into a drunken slumber. "No, you can't." he whispered, roaring the car to life and leaving the bar behind him. He couldn't help but feel the pull to go back and look for Sam. He knew by now someone would have picked him up, and going at a normal speed he could be just a few cities away.

Dean wasn't tired, his fingers gripped his phone tightly, ready to call Sam and talk some sense into him. Dean glanced over at his father, this wasn't like the other fights. This one was different. Sam was talking about college, about living an apple pie life and getting out of this. But Sam had always talked about that. Late nights in hotel rooms without John, Sam would go off on how he just wanted to do something else.

He drove, setting the phone down on the seat. "If you go, don't ever come back!" Like a skipping record playing over and over in Dean's head. The words he wanted to say to John sat at the tip of his tongue, but that was as far as they would go. Dean pressed his foot on the pedal heavy, the car lurching forward with full power.

The first motel Dean saw he pulled in, parking the car in front of the small office. He left the engine running, and leaned his head against the steering wheel. He shook off whatever was washing over him and got a room, despite his father's orders. With heavy hands, he helped his father to his feet, helped him into the dingy room and dropped him on the bed.

Another night, another hotel room. _He'll come back, he always comes back._


End file.
